Substitute
by castlestormed
Summary: When Keith rejects the responsibility and Allura is rejected for it, Lance steps up to the plate. Or at least, he tries to. [exploration of Lance as a potential Black Lion pilot candidate]


Filling in. That's what Lance is good at, or so he thinks.

So when Keith rejects the responsibility and Allura is rejected for it, Lance steps up, jabs a thumb to his chest and says, "I'll do it."

He's being totally serious about it too. Shiro's been missing long enough for his return to have gone from certain to uncertain to questionable bordering on indeterminable. He's had a lot of time to sink his thoughts into this, a lot of time to think about the consequences of a missing teammate and what that meant for Voltron and their ongoing battle with the Galra empire.

It's weird how simple it is. The team needs the Black Lion, a leader, a good pilot. He's not sure about the other two but if there's one thing he's confident about, it's that he's a damn good pilot.

"Let me try," he says into the silence because everyone, it seemed, was too preoccupied with staring at him.

"You're kidding, right?" Pidge pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and the frames catch a beam of light that momentarily obscures her squinted gaze. "You?"

That hurts a little but Lance brushes it off. Sticks and stones.

"Why not? Keith doesn't want to step up —"

"That's not—! It's not that I—" Keith stutters, uncharacteristically flustered. There's a good two seconds of him trying to push out words before he folds in on himself and bites out a stilted, "I just… can't. Won't. Sorry."

Lance smothers a spurt of irritation — and pity, though he'd be loathed to admit it. Keith looks... lost. More closed up than usual. If this were about anything else, Lance would have maybe tried to muster up some sympathy. Maybe.

But this was about survival. This was about saving the world.

Keith's name had rang out the loudest when discussions about who would take over the Black Lion began in earnest. The Red Lion was Voltron's sword arm and literal right hand, after all. The princess pointed out that the previous Red Paladin — her father — had been something like a second-in-command, and that Keith had been filling a similar role.

Aaaaand as if the universe couldn't be any more pointed, Keith reluctantly revealed that Shiro himself gave him his blessing (if he was to be believed).

Yet despite all the brightly-lit signs pointing his way, Keith was determined to stay out of the running because… because he didn't want to? Because he was afraid of admitting that Shiro isn't around anymore?

Lance doesn't get this at all.

Thing is… yeah. Shiro isn't around. There's no skirting around that, and the motionless Black Lion in its hangar was the most critical sign. Keith was hot-headed, sure, but wasn't he also sort of military-practical, to a fault?

If I were Keith, he'd said to himself when he was musing over his options, then what I need to do is obvious. The universe needs Voltron. Voltron needs a Black Lion. I can pilot the Black Lion. So ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom, I pilot the Black Lion.

It wasn't even a matter of ego anymore; it was a matter of necessity. It was a matter of the universe's safety.

If I have a skill that can be useful, I use it.

Not using it? Kind of a dick move. And also kind of a questionable move because why wouldn't you help people if you had the power to do so?

He didn't always understand where Keith was coming from but he'd never pegged him as _selfish,_ until now.

"Like I said," Lance says, turning away from Keith with a roll of his eyes, "he doesn't wanna do it. And our next best option couldn't make Black budge at all today."

The princess's arms tighten around herself and Lance can identify with the feeling she so openly projects.

"Yes, unfortunately the Black Lion has chosen to reject me," she says, somehow managing to sound gracefully upset. She hasn't worn any of her usual dresses since Shiro's disappearance. In her pink-accented spacesuit, she would have fit right into the team. If anyone truly deserved to pilot the Black Lion, it was her — not Keith.

She turns tired eyes on Lance and gives him an equally tired smile. "I don't see why you shouldn't try, Lance."

Warmth bursts through his chest — until she turns that tired smile on the whole room.

"And if Lance doesn't work out, I believe the others should attempt it as well. Just in case."

Hunk makes a startled squeaking noise, Pidge lets out a grumbled _Ugh_, and just like that, his carefully considered plan of solving everyone's problem by volunteering to be the responsible one was downsized into a group effort. Nice.

Lance is quick to pick himself up though. This is good. Even if it were Hunk or Pidge and not him, at least they would have a Black Lion again.

Pidge goes first — "To get this over with," she says tersely — and lasts a minute before tagging out. Her dismissive attitude doesn't bother Lance. The youngest and smallest member of their team is more useful (and safe) behind the scenes anyway.

Hunk goes next, anxious energy tensing up his shoulders. Hunk has never spoken about wanting to be a pilot but Lance compares his friend's broad frame to the sturdy bulk of the Black Lion and thinks that maybe Hunk would be the better match if it came down to the two of them. Shiro's absence had been a blow; maybe Hunk and his big heart was what the team needed right now to fill that void.

(Better than Lance who could get stuck in his own headspace sometimes and went overboard with the jokes when a lighter touch was more appropriate...)

But not that many minutes later, Hunk exits the Black Lion, unsuccessful and somewhat relieved.

"Guess we saved the best for last?" he says with a sheepish grin, and Lance gives him a hi-five for that before taking his turn.

.

* * *

.

It is quiet in the cockpit, so quiet that he can hear the thrumming of the castle from outside. He takes a seat and drums his fingers on the armrests, surveying a dashboard not unlike the one in Blue.

His nerves ramp up as the silence settles around him. Blue's response to him had been instantaneous and intuitive, like picking up a new sport and making the happy discovery that you were naturally adept at it. The Black Lion's continued stillness didn't bode well.

—but this was the Black Lion after all. The leader of the pack. Of course it wouldn't be that simple. He had to prove himself!

How though?

He coughs into the curve of a hand. "Hey, big guy. It's Lance — you know, Blue's pilot?"

There. Friendly but not too friendly; he figures that if this Lion was anything like its missing pilot, it probably wouldn't appreciate an overly casual approach.

"Normally I'd try to sell you on my good points but I think I'll just cut to the chase." He clears his throat. "We, uh, we kind of need you out there. Think you have it in you to give me a shot?"

The silence stretches over his question. Lance swallows his unease. He reaches for the handles on either side of the chair, gingerly curling his fingers around the hand grips. He had hoped that the contact would spark something, build a connection like the one he had with Blue but… nothing. Of course.

Well, the show must go on.

"C'mon," he says. "I'm not that bad. I can do it; and if I can't, I'll figure out how. Just ask Blue! She can totally vouch for what an awesome pilot I am!"

Nothing again. That last part might have been a bit much.

Okay, okay. Maybe a slightly different approach.

This time Lance closes his eyes and reaches with his mind.

_Black? Uh, Black Lion. We need you, man. Look, I know I'm no Shiro but I'm here, I'm ready, and I'm… kind of all you've got right now. You turned down everyone else-_

**_/ not true /_**

The response comes so quickly that, at first, Lance isn't sure if the words come from his own doubts or from the Lion. A sequence of images seem to come into focus all at once in his mind's eye, all with an undercurrent of red and a burst of emotion that he doesn't immediately recognize. He feels a strong pull towards them but they move too quickly. He reaches out, grasping in vain — then vertigo clenches around his stomach, quickly replaced by pain as he trips over his own feet and crashes into the metal floor.

Lance lays on the ground for a good minute, gritting his teeth.

Also painful? What Black is trying to say.

"He doesn't want to do it, okay?" he snaps. "He didn't even want to try. There's no talking to him once he's made up his mind. That's why I told you — it _has_ to be _me_."

His vehement declaration rings strongly (confidently, he thinks, with pride) in his own ears.

But following the pattern of this attempted conversation, it too is swallowed by the stillness of the Black Lion's cockpit.

Lance bites down resentment as he picks himself up from the ground. It's tempting — so tempting — to kick that stupid chair. He doesn't, though. Instead he glares at his dark surroundings, like he is staring down the great beast itself.

A guy could take a hint… but seriously?

This whole thing was _stupid_.

"I don't even want to be your pilot," he mutters, and there's a stir in the air, like a chuckle, which gets on his nerves. "What? I don't! And guess what, dude? _Neither does Keith_. But which of us is standing here right now, trying to take responsibility for it?"

(He deserves some credit for showing up and trying, right?)

(He deserves some credit for caring, right?)

"Maybe Keith really is the best guy for the job, but as I've told you a million times, _he doesn't want to be here_. I am and I do— I mean, I know I just contradicted myself there, saying I didn't wanna be your pilot, but..."

His gaze drops to the ground as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. But the quiet now is different from the stillness of before. It gives him some courage to keep going.

He clears his throat again and says, "I figured I could just... fill in, you know? 'Cause we kinda need you. The universe needs you. And we can't get you up and running without a pilot, right? So I can do it, until he's ready. Okay?"

Lance is a little surprised to find that he means it, too. Like, real talk, he can't imagine himself leading Voltron, de facto or otherwise. Keith, though… Keith could probably do it. When he finally grows a pair and learns how to put his personal shit aside, anyway.

"O-or, Allura," he adds hastily, uncomfortably aware that he is just babbling now. "I still think it's weird that you didn't pick her, but I guess you have your reasons, huh? Just. Yeah. This'll be a temporary partnership, you and me. Because we need you. And I'm your best bet right now."

He opens his arms and tries a smile.

"So… partners?" he asks hopefully.

And he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

...it's excruciating. It's worse than the first time he ever confessed his feelings to a crush. At least the girl had been nice enough to put him down gently. Today he learns that giant metal lions are not nearly as kind.

.

* * *

.

Enough time passes that it's become too tiring to keep up the smile. He drops it, shoves his hands into his pockets, and finds his way out.

The whole team looks as tired as Allura when he drags his failure of a self over to them.

"Black'll come around," he says, eliciting a few wan smiles. They scatter to do their own thing not long after that.

Lance should have gone straight to his room but he finds himself slowing down and waiting till he is completely alone before retracing his steps. He stares at the Black Lion from the entrance of the hanger. It stares back with blank, dead eyes.

There's a war going on, he wants to tell it, and you can do something about it. But here you are, sitting on your metal claws, for dumb reasons I can't understand… kinda like Keith.

Huh. Maybe you two _are_ meant to be.

That wasn't the point though. He was here so that he could fill that spot — a spot that was necessary but unwanted. That's what he's good at, or so he thinks.

But of course it wouldn't be that easy.

Getting into the Garrison wasn't. Enduring as a cargo pilot wasn't. Making it to fighter pilot wasn't. Leaving Earth and fighting this impossible-sounding war with impossible-sounding technology certainly wasn't...

So. Not easy? He was used to that.

He reenters the still, metal cockpit, and says, "Let's try this again."

.

* * *

end

* * *

_author's note: Dear kind guest reviewer whom I am unable to reply to - I'm so happy you enjoyed this! I haven't written anything that resembles a sequel yet, but I do have an idea or two that I might want to explore... (No promises though.)_


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